Housing in rocks, of mariners the mischief,Revelling Haides’ mother, — curse, no truce with,Breathing at friends! How piously she shouted,The all-courageous, as at turn of battle!She seems to joy at the back-bringing safety!Of this, too, if I nought persuade, all’s one! Why?What is to be will come. And soon thou, present,True prophet all too much wilt pitying style me. CHOROS.Thuestes’ feast, indeed, on flesh of children,I went with, and I shuddered. Fear too holds meListing what’s true as life, nowise out-imaged.KASSANDRA.I say, thou Agamemnon’s fate shalt look on.CHOROS.Speak good words, O unhappy! Set mouth sleeping!KASSANDRA.But Paian stands in no stead to the speech here.CHOROS.Nay, if the thing be near: but never be it!KASSANDRA.Thou, indeed, prayest: they to kill are busy.CHOROS.Of what man is it ministered, this sorrow?KASSANDRA.There again, wide thou look’st of my foretellings.CHOROS.For, the fulfiller’s scheme I have not gone with.KASSANDRA.And yet too well I know the speech Hellenic.